Truce
by Illwynd
Summary: A Yule story regarding Faramir. Inspired by the Christmas truce of 1914.


Title: Truce  
Author: illwynd  
Disclaimer: The nameless OMC is mine, but the rest of it is Tolkien's.  
Rating: PG  
Characters: Faramir, OMC, others.  
Summary: Inspired by, and in honor of, the Christmas truce of 1914  
Notes: Yeah, I know how unlikely this is. Unbeta'd.

Yule, 3018. Ithilien.

He wished they had not needed to pass this way. Several days before, as they crossed into Gondor, their company had been ambushed. Both sides had taken losses, but he and most of his company had escaped to continue their journey. Since then, his days had been longer and more anxious than ever as they tramped across this strange land towards Mordor's gates. He had watched the shadows for piercing grey eyes of the tall pale men from stories and warnings that were told in his land. They were cruel and wicked, the tales said, and would slay him on a whim. When he had fought them, though, they had not seemed crueler than any other who must fight for his homeland.

Now, he lay staring at the far-off stars and thinking of home, when a distant melody carried on the wind reached his ears. He knew that song. The man roused himself in the chill of night to find most of his men already awake, staring across the darkened fields towards the source of the sound. Though they couldn't discern the words, the tune was a simple one, a traditional Yule song. Eyes turned towards him in surprise as he began singing, then voices joined his to mingle with the Gondorian voices in the distance. When the song ended, he hurried back to his blankets. He laid there his sword, and took in his hand a little box made of mumak-tusk. He needed to find out if these Men were truly as wicked as tales said. Taking a torch, he set out into the darkness.

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A tiny light progressed across the field, until it could be seen as a torch with a single dark figure illuminated beneath it. When the figure grew close enough, it called out in Westron.

"Do not slay me! I bear no weapons!" These words were repeated several times.

"Captain Faramir, what shall we do?"

Faramir looked out towards the approaching figure.

"Wait here. I will go to meet him." The dark grass rustled as he walked into the darkness, and he drew his cloak close against the bitter winds.

His men watched anxiously as their captain crossed the field, and saw the two figures halt in the middle. After a short while, Faramir walked back alone, holding a small box in his hand, and smiling.

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An hour later, the middle of the field was full of light and laughter. Several fires were lit over which men of Gondor and Harad joined talents and stores to cook a midnight meal that contained tastes strange and exquisite to both groups' palates. Among the meager personal possessions the soldiers carried with them, they all found some thing that could be given to another- a pouch of tea leaves, a spare cloak, a string of beads- and as they ate together and shared gifts, the men talked. They shared tales of hardships and found that all soldiers, no matter what side, suffer from wet boots, poor weather, weary days, loss, and the longing for home and family left behind. They shared jokes also, and when the talk and laughter faded, song began. The Men of Harad began with a slow sad chanting that rushed forward as one of the soldiers reappeared with a small drum to accompany the song. The drummer grinned as a Gondorian produced a flute and joined in as well, sending sweet high notes floating above. As the tune ended, Faramir's men murmured with approval and thanks, and began their own song.

Faramir, however, did not join in the singing. The Haradrim captain had come to him, and they sat together in the flickering firelight, watching over their men and talking together.

"So tell me, why do you fight for the Dark Lord?" Faramir asked quietly.

"We do not call him that," the Haradrim captain said. "But there are many reasons why I fight. Foremost is that I must. He promises great reward for those who assist him, and great vengeance on those who thwart him. And if my people must fight, then I must fight with them, for honor's sake. My family would be in disgrace if I were to refuse."

"Your family? Tell me about them," Faramir said suddenly.

"I have a wife, two young sons, and an infant daughter. She has her mother's eyes, and is the fairest being I have ever looked upon," the man said wistfully. "I miss them greatly. And what of your family?"

"I… have no wife. My family is only my father and my brother. And I have not seen my brother for months. My father and I… we miss him greatly."

"I hope that he will return to you swiftly, my friend."

"Thank you. I hope you will soon be able to return to your family as well."

In silence they commiserated, both their thoughts lingering on dear ones far away, until a Gondorian soldier came towards them with two steaming mugs of fragrant drink.

"The sun will rise soon," the man said as he pressed the cups into their hands.

Standing, the two captains rejoined their men who waited, shivering, for the dawn.

The Men of Gondor and Harad watched the first rays of sunlight creep across the land, and drained their cups as one.

"Farewell, and I hope I do not meet you again… unless, perhaps, when peace comes," said the Haradrim captain.

"That is my hope also," said Faramir solemnly.

The two companies parted and walked slowly and silently on their own separate ways across the field. An early mist shrouded the land, and no sign was left that this Yule night, enemies had met in friendship.

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A/N- I really thought I could get through a whole fic without mentioning Boromir. Alas, no.


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